


One Day in the Future

by loki (lokigurl)



Category: Roswell (TV)
Genre: F/M, Futurefic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-14
Updated: 2011-05-14
Packaged: 2017-10-19 09:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokigurl/pseuds/loki





	One Day in the Future

She is finishing her second cup of coffee when it happens. Her hands cradle the china, managing to control their shaking as the cup drops to the saucer. Normally she only allows herself two a day – something about the caffeine playing with already tense nerves – but now she desperately needs a reason to sit in her house a little longer.

No one else seems to notice but that doesn’t surprise her. They hadn’t been preparing for this, waiting for the sign and worrying if they’d be strong enough to do what was necessary. Her bones ache with a knowledge that no one should be forced to have. It has been a constant part of her life – the faint pain felt in everything she did. And that’s how she knows it has happened – it is no longer faint.

Walking across the kitchen, her gliding slippers feel like rhinoceros hooves. The ache grows stronger, her hands betray her completely now as the cup clatters to the bottom of the sink. There is a small chip in the rim and her thumb brushes over it briefly. Yesterday, she would have been furious – today it’s simply another physical reminder of the world she’s leaving behind.

Her husband is watching television in the other room – a program on Americana. She curls up on his lap and nuzzles against his neck. He wraps his arms around her and contented murmurs rumble from deep in his throat. This is what she knows, this is what she loves. Stale cigarette smoke and peppermints with just a touch of musky cologne. Home.

She lifts her head and traces his lips with her fingers, staring at his face in hopes of memorizing every curve and crevice. She prays that he can’t feel the tears on her eyelashes as she kisses him. He shifts her in his arms and she remembers just how very strong he is. And for a moment, it takes almost everything in her body not to tell him what she must do, not to beg him to come along and protect her. Truth be told, he would be of no help. She has everything she ever needed – she always has.

Pulling away from him, she stands and takes one last look. Her face is hard and she wants him to see the apologetic sorrow in her eyes. But he sees something else – the edges of his lips turn up in a smile. He thinks she is being mysterious and seductive. She lets him.

Her son is at the neighbors, she remembers as she climbs the stairs. She’ll leave him be and not give herself a final good-bye. It sounds callous, she knows, but for four years she didn’t let him out of her sight. She lived in fear that this moment would come and she would not be able to get to him – keeping them locked in a virtual prison that wasn’t healthy for either of them. She knew that this day would come and he would have to learn to live without her.

Her daughter’s room is at the end of the hall. There is the low buzz of the baby monitor accompanied by quiet, amused gurgling. She takes her child in her arms and holds her firmly to her chest. This is when she feels guilty. A few months is nothing compared to several years. It’s not enough time, she thinks, sitting in the rocking chair. She balances the baby on her knees and begins to sing quietly. A song that’s too old and a song that’s too sad to ever sing to a child. She wonders if her husband can hear her, but reasons that he could only probably make out a few words.

He doesn’t know how loudly she can sing.

She kisses her girl on the head and places her back in her crib. Her finger strokes the soft, pudgy cheeks and she smiles for what might possibly be the last time in *this* world.

In the back of her closet, beneath a pile of clothes and under several crates is a jar of money. There are several hundreds of dollars in there – perhaps even a thousand. She’s been collecting for seven years and never counted. It’s the only thing she hasn’t done obsessively for this trip… she doesn’t know why. The cash is pulled out and folded haphazardly into a small wallet and stuffed into her pocket. She glances around the room for anything else she might want to take, but grabs very little. Everything she needs is already packed.

Tossing out a quick good-bye to her husband – she worries that if she enters the room, she might never leave – she goes into the garage. On one of the shelves is a small suitcase, enough room for a daytrip. She picks it up as she walks towards the car and tosses it into the backseat. She’s packed and unpacked and repacked it so many times that the corners have begun to wear down and the lock doesn’t catch as tightly as it should. Two or three times a week for seven years will do that.

She pulls out and checks to see if there is enough gas. There always is – her husband teases her about her maniacal need to have a full tank. How could he understand that she had to be ready to go at a moment’s notice? That an extra second wasted could mean permanent disaster? That if she had extra seconds, she wanted to spend them with him?

There is a map in the glove compartment, but she doesn’t bother to look at it. Maybe when she gets closer, or her body gets too tired from driving and wants to take a break. It will be a good mental distraction. She merges onto the highway and leans her elbow against the window, her palm helps to prop her head up. The road ahead doesn’t register, instead she sees the movie of her life roll out in front of her eyes.

*~*~*

She was coming home from the market when he grabbed her. There she was, in her own little world – still awestruck that the man she loved had just proposed – when one hand clamped down over her mouth and the other dropped across her chest and dragged her into an alley. She should have been scared, terrified that someone was trying to mug, rape, or murder her. But she wasn’t. She was just angry. Angry that someone had dared intrude in the happiness she had managed to carve out for herself.

Her wide eyes sought out for another soul to come and help, but no one would glance her way. A car was a few feet from them and he threw her into the passenger’s side and slammed the door shut. She furiously yanked at the handles but it didn’t budge. Later, she learned, he had soldered it before getting in himself. It was too dark to see anything and she jumped a little when the other door opened. When her attacker slid into his seat, she turned to look at him – to memorize every single detail of his face and body so as to give a clear report to the police. But when she caught his profile, she swallowed hard. (She refused to give him the satisfaction of a gasp.)

Sitting next to her was the one she knew better than herself. Or, at least, at one time did. It had been many years and now the person a mere foot away was a shell of the boy she once knew. His nails dug into the steering wheel and he was breathing haggardly, even though the car wasn’t moving.

“I just, I just, I just have to show you something…” He stuttered and stumbled.

Never had she heard him like that. She wasn’t sure if he was waiting for an answer, but either way she wouldn’t say anything. Grasping her grocery bag, she glanced out the window. Apparently he took that as something and sped down the alley, onto the street – and out of the city.

*~*~*

She looks at the clock and realizes that two hours have already passed. He’s probably starting to wonder where she had gone off to, but isn’t concerned. Yet. But she doesn’t want to take chances and gets off at the next exit. It opens into a mall, which is better than a gas station because no one pays much attention in a large parking lot. She turns everything off and heads to the back of the car. Crouching, she snaps the suitcase open and takes out a license plate and pliers. In less than six minutes, it’s changed. That’s what seven years of practice will do. The quickest was four minutes, twenty-nine seconds. But that wasn’t under ‘real-life’ circumstances. She is surprised that her hands don’t shake more.

Wrapping up her old plate, she pops the trunk and tucks it under the spare tire. In another town, another state, she’ll toss it, but for now it’s safe. She rips open a handi-wipe and scrubs the dirt from her hands. No one has thrown a single look her way. She puts the suitcase back in the car and heads out again.

*~*~*

As they crossed the border, her hunger became more demanding. She reached into one of her bags and pulled out a box of breadsticks. They were for dinner – her boyfriend ~fiancé~ had a thing for nibbling while he cooked and she brought him different kinds each time. Consumed by the towns flying past, she didn’t notice him eyeing her food until the box was near empty. He was probably starving, he hadn’t seemed all that healthy when in the brief light she saw him in. But she refused to offer him anything until he asked. He never did.

Her mouth was dry so she set the box back down and opened a small jug of water. She rationed herself sips, however, because she was not going to ask him to pull over. Sometimes she could play the game better than him.

When the sun came up, she estimated that they’d been driving for almost ten hours. The tank was near full again – he must have stopped after she’d dozed off. A can of Coke sat in the cup holder and some crumpled up wrappers littered the dash. She rubbed her eyes and tried not to move so much – her bladder was already complaining.

She decided to look at him - *really* look. He had hardly changed his position since they took off – still clutching the wheel for dear life, hunched over so he could see that extra two feet of road ahead. Or maybe it was that he was still running from whatever had him so worn out and he was trying to keep two inches ahead. His cheeks were sallow and sunken, there was a two-inch scar not far from his ear. He kept narrowing his eyes like it hurt to see – which had to be difficult enough with so much hair falling into them. She watched him for ten minutes straight and he never brushed it out of the way. In fact, he barely budged at all.

He finally noticed her staring and met her eyes. Confusion. That’s all she could read. She knew he didn’t plan to harm her, but it seemed like he was still confused as to why he grabbed her. Or perhaps he didn’t remember it at all and had no idea why she was there. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked back at the road.

“You’re awake.”

Once again, she didn’t respond and he swerved the car over to the shoulder.

“Drive.”

He got out and opened the door for her with a wave of his hand. She went to the other side of the car without pausing to check the area for landmarks. She had no idea where they were. He waited for her to get in before he did, and then only repeated his command.

“Drive. Just keep going on this road. And don’t try to turn around or anything, I’ll know.”

There were few cars on the road and the sound of the tires thumping against breaks in the asphalt was hypnotizing. She kept looking in her rearview mirror at the sunrise, picking out a new colour each time. It helped keep her awake.

He, on the other hand, allowed himself to get some sleep. It was the first time in weeks.

*~*~*

Thump, thump, thump. She shakes herself out of her stupor and switches on the radio. There is no news – no word of them coming. Her bones ache more and she knows it’s just a matter of time. It’s always been just a matter of time.

Her husband’s probably worried now. Probably called all her friends, her mother will be next if not the police. But she hasn’t been gone twenty-four hours yet so they can’t do anything. He’ll beg, plead… she would never just run off and leave, she has two young children, you know… she seemed fine this morning. He’ll stay up all night and her son will find him crying on the couch in the living room. And he’ll have to tell him that mommy is gone.

She takes a deep breath and runs her fingers through her hair.

*~*~*

Three hours went by and he still didn’t wake. But she knew that he wasn’t completely out. Should she turn off or slow down, he’d be up in a heartbeat. She listened to him sigh in his sleep and wondered what had been done to him, what had brought him to this point. She wanted to ask him about the others and even phrases the words in her head. She doesn’t, though. She couldn’t.

The gauges started dropping, though, and she read a sign that says ‘Next station -- 32 miles.’ It’s a small mom-and-pop place and the last bastion for weary travelers. He opened his eyes as they drove in, annoyed. Tossing him the keys, she walked into the shop and back out towards a side door. He was pumping gas when she exited the bathroom, leaning against the car. She felt like she was sixteen again – making a pit stop on 285 South.

She continued to stare, even after he caught her. He knew what she was thinking, and for a moment let himself feel the same way, too. Neither one smiled.

*~*~*

The radio is getting annoying, so she returns to the silence. She taped a piece of paper over the clock so that she couldn’t watch the minutes tick away. Her eyes are feeling heavy so she starts to make deals with herself. Four more miles and she’ll pull over. Fifty more miles and she’ll get food. A hundred more miles and she’ll stop for the night.

She’d taught herself to get by on less sleep – or rather, her children had. It was a combination, really… she didn’t want to waste a single moment sleeping when she could be watching their beautiful faces. Her husband often found her in the baby’s room, rocking in the chair and cooing to her daughter. She loved the different smiles she could evoke with every new song, and how her little girl’s eyes would open in utter surprise every time she poked her nose. She didn’t need pictures or videotapes – those images were in her mind forever.

Gabriel and Winter. She knew that people thought she was insane for giving her children with such names – even her husband tried arguing with her. But she played the hippie-mom card and reminded him that she was one doing all the ‘hard work.’ Not that she meant either one, really – it just helped her get her way. Both names came to her on sleepless nights, when she was awoken with images of terrors from far away and the not-so-distant future.

She named her son for an angel – one of strength and inspiration; her daughter in remembrance of the quiet serenity that comes when the earth is blanketed with a soft white snow. In a way, she thinks of them as two parts of one whole – where lines are constantly blurred and potentials are multiplied exponentially. That’s how she loves them – without boundaries or limits, seeing their capabilities and achievements in every moment of every day.

One day, she hopes they will understand that and learn that two together are powerful, that two together can change the world. 

*~*~*

They were an hour from town when she recognized where they were. He took the back roads, through developments and over ravines. She was grateful he didn’t go through Main Street… someone might have recognized them and asked her what she was doing back. What she was doing with her life. How was everything in the big city. And was it true that she was getting married? What could she possibly say in response? And how would she explain why she was with *him*?

The car bounced over the sand dunes – her knees kept banging against the glove compartment. She clutched the door handle to steady herself though it was of little help. He didn’t seem bothered by the constant jostling… two days of driving and they were almost there. It was almost time.

Suddenly he slammed on the breaks and the car spun out in two widening circles. She whipped her head at him, jaw dropped and a fury brewing. She’d been patient, accepting during the entire trip and now he had lost all sense of… something. Her fists clenched up and she was tempted to slug him and run off. (She noticed that he hadn’t bothered soldering the door again at the gas station.)

He got out before she had the chance. Standing at the front of the car, he looked out over the vast desert – consumed in his own little world. She watched him a little longer then joined him in the blistering heat. She’d forgotten how hot the New Mexico summers could be.

Taking her hand, he dragged her along some path only he could see – over rocks and through tight passages. They came to a place she’d been once before. He had brought her there that time, too. Only this time she didn’t think he was planning to apologize. If nothing more, the last two days showed her that his mental state was way past sorrys.

“This,” he nodded, “This is where you need to come. Here.”

She ran her hand down the solid rock, feeling for the edge of the door she’d once entered through. Nothing. She couldn’t find anything and she was almost terrified to tell him that. Not that she feared he’d do anything to her – but because she was beginning to understand just how much this all meant to him.

“Do you know where you are? Could you find it without me?”

Wobbling her head in a sort of side-to-side, up-and-down fashion, she bit her lip nervously. What was she supposed to say?

He touched the side of her head and everything went dark. Her mouth opened wide, ready to scream, yet nothing came out. Had he taken her voice as well? She flailed her arms madly, desperately trying to grab hold of something to give her a sense of balance. The threadbare fabric of his shirt was the first thing she came in contact with, and she held on for dear life.

Without another word, he started walking – she a few steps behind and still clinging to him. They walked for what seemed like hours, but were probably minutes, she rationalized. There was no way he could expect her to walk hours in this heat, in this state. Not if he wanted her to be capable of functioning on any sort of reasonably level.

“You must be able to find it without me. From wherever you are – you *must*.” He uncurled her fingers from his bicep and moved closer. “I know you can do this. You are the only one,” he whispered against her ear. “The only one.”

Uncertain steps were made in one direction, then the other. She tried to gauge her movement by his audible sighs but when he figured out what she was doing, he went completely silent.

It was impossible. Absolutely impossible. She had counted four-hundred and sixty-two steps when she determined it was impossible. A good show was put on for another two-hundred and seven, but at that she stood in place and covered her hands with her face. Not that would help anything – it didn’t even make anything darker. She dropped to her knees and faced up to the sun that was already baking her skin to a toasty red. The sweat was pouring down her body, making her clothes stick to her body in awkward ways.

She was wrong, she decided. He *was* insane. He expected her to find a place she’d been to twice, over ten years apart – while blind, exhausted and bordering on a bad case of sunstroke. He was always a bit off-kilter, but this… this was it. He wasn’t looking for help, she thought. He was trying to kill her – in the slowest, and strangest way possible.

A thousand scenarios ran through her mind about her impending doom. She could no longer hear him around her and figured that he’d gone back to the car and left her for dead. At this point, she hoped that was what he did. It would be even more malicious to stand by and watch her suffer an agonizing death. She wasn’t ready to assume he was that merciless – but in five minutes, she might have been.

Cold hands rested on her shoulders and she shivered from the brief relief. Her head fell back against his leg. There were no more coherent thoughts in her head aside from one – she wanted him to kill her quick and easy. As painless as possible. He could do it, she knew that.

His hands slid up her neck and smoothed her hair from her clammy face. He rubbed behind her ears with his thumbs and pressed the rest of his fingers firmly into her skull. Slowly, her consciousness came back from its state of suspension – and came back with a vengeance. Something was different, something new and intricate was suddenly in her stored knowledge base and she could feel it with every cell of her body.

Standing, she turned in place – taking in all the smells and tastes and sounds of the desert. She started off again with an unwavering pace, smiling when she heard the crunching of stones frantically trying to keep up with her.

She found it. And when he dragged her off to another spot, she found it again. And again, and again and again. He must have brought her to ten or fifteen starting places and she found it every time. And then she got her sight back.

*~*~*

It’s been over a hundred miles and her body is making the demands now. She hits a quick drive-through for dinner and checks into the motel next door. Cash always speaks loudest at the small places and they rarely ask for a credit card. She signs the book “Joyce James” and pauses, smiles.

In her room, she nibbles on her food while dialing her cell. She can’t call her house – it would be too painful to hear her husband’s heartbroken voice. Instead she calls the number she memorized two years ago. It can’t be found in any phone book or Internet search – a stranger handed her a card one day with a knowing look. She was on a busy street – rushing to pick up the dry-cleaning before she got her son from preschool – and this man stopped in front of her and handed it over.

She often wonders how he’d known… that particular day she had been questioning it all and starting to think that her trip to the desert was all a flight of twisted fancy. Not that she fancied it at all. But she was on the verge of deciding it was just a game he’d played with her head and nothing more. Until this stranger handed her a card with a number on it.

One look from a stranger – one sympathetic and deliberate look – and she knew she wasn’t alone.

There is a click on the line and a harsh, “Yes?”

“It’s me. M-D-L. Please send it now.”

“It will be done.” Click.

She hangs up and tosses the phone on the bed. The television is a source of little distraction, however she decides to wait up for the news.  It will probably only cover the bigger deals – newspapers are much better for the smaller stories and it’s too early for those to be out yet.

The water in the shower is finally warming up and she peels off her clothes and gets in. It’s too hot – scalding her skin – but she turns in circles until she can’t stand anymore. The unbearable heat reminds her of him… his despair and desolation. It reminds her of his stammering and his gruffness and blind stubbornness.

She leans against the wall and glides down the wall until she’s sitting. The water is cooler down here. She hugs her legs to her chest and gives into the berating spray. Reaching over, she pushes the lever to the “C” side. Within a minute, the steam disperses and she can breathe again in the sub-zero temperature. The temperature of his hands. Hands that gave her knowledge and put her on a path she can’t escape from.

Her skin is ice-cold and her teeth are chattering uncontrollably. She figures she has a few more minutes of reprieve before it starts back up. Soon her bones will ache so much so that she won’t be able to do much more than curl up in bed and moan. But not cry.

She doesn’t do that anymore.

*~*~*

He looked at her so proud and there was a sense of hope bubbling in him. She couldn’t help but smile back – even though she was still infuriated with his over-inflated expectations of her. It wasn’t over, and each step was much more difficult than the previous one… and the previous one near killed her.

“Now,” he said, placing her hand over a non-descript point on the wall, “You just have to open the door.”

Closing her eyes, she concentrated with all her being. She visualized the rock cracking open and sliding to the side. When there was no sound – she reviewed everything her mother had taught her about meditation and tried harder. And harder. Still, nothing happened.

She let her hand fall to her side and sought him out with regretful eyes. He only shook his head and said, “Try it again.”

But it still didn’t work. She waited for him to touch her again, to give her that extra oomph that she needed to open it. He continued to lean on the rock wall a few feet away. She quieted her mind, focused her thoughts and envisioned the door totally dissolving. Once more, it stayed solid.

Sighing, he walked up behind her and pressed his body against her. His hand covered hers and every hair on her arms stood at attention. She could see his hand glow and cells in her palm began to sizzle.

The door remained closed.

“Concentrate,” he demanded and the light appeared for a second time. She returned to her visualization exercises and made herself as open a conduit as humanly possible. It made no difference.

“Try, dammit, try!” He growled and wrapped his arm around her waist.

Every last breath was being squeezed out of her. An involuntary whimper escaped and he immediately released her. He kicked one wall and punched another in defeat. She stood still, following his pacing with her eyes. It dawned on her that she still had no idea what he wanted her to see and what he needed her to do. He had driven her hundreds and hundreds of miles from her home – maybe more – without any explanation. And it was all too possible that she would never get one.

*~*~*

There is a diner down the road from the motel and she eats a small breakfast there. Nothing concrete was on the news last night – just a brief mention of a peculiar string of fires that were set in the Everglades. They weren’t having much luck in fighting them but they were positive that fires would be out soon.

She knows they’re wrong. She knows it’s only the first stage.

A complimentary copy of the paper is on each table and she flips through each page, scanning it for pertinent details. Three bodies were found in an apartment in Arkansas, dead. They had burned to death – although there was no sign of fire in the room and they hadn’t been moved. The ache throbs a little stronger.

She sips her coffee – her first cup – and thinks about her best friend. She never did tell her about the trip… about him kidnapping her and dragging her back to Roswell, unwavering in his decision that she was the one. When she got back, it was the first thing she thought of. But as every number was dialed, frantic hesitation grew. Her finger wavered over the last button – she stared at it, willing it to dial itself because she knew she couldn’t. Instead, she hung up the phone.

She almost told Liz on her wedding day. It was a hectic day filled with relentless craziness and it didn’t help that every other second, she was worried that she’d have to take off and drive to Roswell. For one second, she wanted to be unburdened of that promise and truly enjoy herself. When her friend came in to fix her hair, she stared into the mirror and wanted to confess. Confess all that had been holding her hostage in a little place in her mind.

Liz wouldn’t have understood. It would have quickly changed from “he did *what* to you” to “why didn’t they take me?” Her friend would have babbled on about how *she* was the one that was saved, and *she* was the one that was changed…

After a lifetime of living on the outskirts of a self-centered life, she didn’t want to get dragged back into that role all over again.

*~*~*

The car ride was dead silent once again, he stared straight ahead with cold eyes as he drove back towards town.  They stopped at a motel not unlike the one from last night.  He threw the keys on the table and pointed at the bed.

“Sleep.”

His commands no longer angered her. She could tell it’s his way of keeping his voice even and calm. Because when that broke, then his walls would break and it was all over. Besides, she was exhausted and a real mattress – no matter how stiff – was a welcome change from a car seat.

She kicked off her shoes and pulled the blankets over her. Within minutes she was asleep.

*~*~*

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t wondered why he took her. She asks herself that question almost everyday. In the beginning, anyway. In the past few years, it all became all painfully clear.

One by one, they all died. Alex – sudden, progressive cancer. Kyle – inoperable brain tumor. Her mother and Jim Valenti – car crash. Liz – apparent suicide. One by one, they were taken at such young ages. It provoked a study to see if Roswell was like one of those cities with sewage or nuclear disposal issues. If cell towers were causing cancer or the water had become tainted. Three years, and nothing was ever determined conclusively.

‘How could it be?’ she thinks, watching yet another town disappear in her rearview mirror. They were looking for physical causes, man-made reasons for the deaths. And their deaths had nothing to do with men.

She still hasn’t been able to reason why she is still alive. Sometimes she wonders if it’s because of what he did to her. Other times she decides she was just able to cover her tracks the best – moving so far from home. But she tries not to dwell on that one, especially when she’s already consumed with so many other thoughts.

The letter should be there today. It should have been there when her husband walked out for the paper in the morning – taped to the glass door. Knowing him, she smiles, he probably didn’t even see it until he came back in the house. She is always teasing him, saying that he would lose his head if it weren’t attached. He always tells her that’s what he needs her for – to find his head. But if she weren’t there, he wouldn’t mind – because without his heart, he doesn’t want his head.

‘I married a sap,’ she chuckles.

Jamie. A simple name, a not-so-simple love. Then again, when has she ever sought out simple things? It wasn’t a whirlwind romance or anything like that, and he taught her that passion comes in many forms. And he taught her, ironically enough, that people *do* stick around when things get hard.

She married a man who sometimes says the perfect things and does the perfect things. She loved him from the moment that she knew in her heart that he wasn’t afraid to love her. That he often says the wrong things and does the wrong things makes her love him more.

He sits down in the kitchen and inspects the odd envelope before tearing off one end. The scenes play out in her mind’s eye – and she orchestrates each move and emotion. There is a key and a note. His hands begin to shake when he realizes it’s her handwriting. ‘Is it a kidnapper? Is it a ransom note? What does he need to do with the key?’ Yet she can’t decide if he’s relieved or distraught at the realization that it’s from her, and that she left of her own accord.

 _“I have to go, I made a promise long ago and now is the time. I’m sorry I can’t tell you where I’m going, it’s not safe. I love you – all of you with all of my being and I think of you every second of every day.”_

There are instructions about the key and the safety-deposit box it opens. Inside he’ll find the hundreds of letters she’s written to each of them – to be opened on certain birthdays and milestones. And the books – keepsake scrapbooks that she has painstakingly maintained over the past seven years.

But she doesn’t give him any more explanation than that – due to fear rather than duplicity. She has seen her friends die because they knew things they shouldn’t have and she refuses to put her family in the same peril. There is no way to put into words the torturous hell that will come to pass if she hadn’t left. That her concerns are for them, and them alone.

She hopes that, even if he doesn’t understand why she left, he knows that she loves him. Loves her son and daughter – her family. Always.

*~*~*

She woke up to an unexpected, yet not unfamiliar voice. Rolling over, she looked over the side of the bed and saw a form huddled against the door. He was weeping, so silently that anyone else would have slept right through it. But not her. She never could.

Sliding out of the covers, she crept over and sat next to him. Her fingertips touched the side of his head, her thumb stroking the tears from his cheeks. He choked as air tried to make it past his sobs. She moved to face him, although there was little either one could see in the virtual blackness. His breathing steadied gradually and hers quickened when he took her free hand and clenched it between his.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured ruefully. “I thought you could… I should have realized that you couldn’t… I mean, it’s not your fault. You’re just not one of…”

It hit her then, and before she lost her nerve she climbed over and straddled him. She – who loved another – ripped her shirt over her head and tossed it to the side. She heard him suck his breath in harshly and realized that no part of him was touching her. Taking his hand in hers, she placed them on her hips and felt him pull away.

“Please,” she said, her first word since he grabbed her. “Please,” she – who was promised to another – repeated.

His lips grazed across her breast and she could have sworn her skin was scorched along that line. He unbuttoned her jeans and guided her onto her back. Each moment of contact made her gasp – from his hands sliding up her hips to his tongue brushing over her collarbone. Her body was ablaze and she nearly drowned as he let her in in ways he’d never been able to before.

*~*~*

Now she knows all the roads by heart. As soon as she got her license, she would take off and drive through every local town and street she could find. It was a good way to wind-down from another frustrating fight at school or a drag-out fight with her mom. Ironically, it came in handy a year or so later when outrunning the FBI.

She can barely hit the turn-signal lever, and she worries about getting out of the car and making the walk up to the cave. Her left hand is clenched over the wheel like a claw and her left leg hasn’t been able to move since that last bathroom break. They’re close. And they are doubling in number.

‘Ten more minutes, ten more minutes,’ she chants over and over – trying to psyche her body up and ignore the pain. It’s funny that a bunch of teenagers could easily outrun a major government agency while she, the predestined wacky-sidekick, is the only one left to fight a race of powerful enemies. With a pain that reminds her there *are* fates worse than death.

*~*~*

The room was pitch-black when she rolled over and woke up. They had passed out on the floor, atop their discarded clothes. Fumbling every step, she made her way to the bathroom for water. She never turned on the light – seeing herself, naked in this motel, in the mirror would make it all too real. But she knew it was too late – it was already too real.

He was breathing heavily, lost in another world of slumber. Laying across the bed, she listened to his long inhalations and the slight catch at the back of his throat before he exhaled again. She didn’t want him to spend another night in a cramped position or on a rock-hard floor, but he was finally at rest and she could tell that was a rare occasion.

Tugging the blankets down, she spread them out on the floor as a thin, barely-there mattress. He rolled towards her warmth and she enveloped him beneath the comforter. His hands grasped her hips, holding to him firmly. He was asleep, she knew, but wrapped her legs around his waist and cradled his head to her breasts.

Wide-awake, she stared off into such darkness where nary a shadow could be found. It made no difference, she was already haunted by the things she had seen. As soon as she felt his lips on hers, his breath in her, the images flew in and ravaged her mind and body. That’s when she began to understand.

They had made it back to their planet in hopes of putting a final end to the Great War waged against their people.

One time, her grandfather had subjected her to hours upon hours of World War II footage on the History Channel –  but it had in no way prepared her for this. Against their world, ransacked European cities and gutted housing projects seemed like resorts. Only the devastating aftermath of Hiroshima could compare to the scenes that she saw in his head.

His fear. Fear-terror-panic – no word could even begin to describe what he felt about the absolute destruction that assailed him from every angle. Their world was in pieces, more and more crumbling down with each passing second. He would try to build one small hut back up and a minute later buildings taller than any skyscraper on earth would explode. 

There were some that remained loyal to the memory of the Royal Four, and they tried hard to bring the new immigrants up to speed. However, there were many more who had reigned in their absence and resented their sudden reappearance. After two weeks, they were burnt. None of them had expected to find everything in such a state of ruin. Still, they battled on.

In time, Isabel uncovered an ulterior motive to the war – an agreement between Khivar and the Emperor of three planets in the galaxy. The Emperor had promised Khivar a place in his court if he’d turn over Antar for repopulation of a separate race. Their people would be forced into slavery so that the new world could be constructed quickly, then they would be killed.

Unfortunately, she deciphered the last of the communications after Max had taken his battalion out towards the fourth wall. Michael hurried after him on the fastest horse, trampling over his people and enemies alike. But he was too late.

She watched as his best friend was killed in front of him. Max had been squatting at the edge of a muddied stream, splashing water on his face. A soldier – by his uniform, high-ranking and probably a captain – emerged behind him, unsheathed a massive sword and took his head off in one swipe. Tess, who had been in the makeshift strategy tent ran to him, fell to her knees and held his body in her arms. The bride wailed in agony, holding her hand up in a futile attempt to use her exhausted powers against the enemy.

Tears streamed her face as she looked through his eyes, staring helplessly, unable to the inevitable as Tess’ body fell over Max. Her arms could not move as his paralyzation filled her body, caught between avenging his best friend’s death and protecting his promised one. The world stood still – bombs dropped at a snail’s pace and soldiers and civilians collapsed in slow motion.

Then, with a start, he jumped on the horse and galloped back to the fortress. In a fatal irony, on approach he saw Isabel being led to one of the turrets. He pulled the horse back and fixed his eyes upon her. His promised one acknowledged him with a dejected smile. She sent him all her thoughts - everything she’d discovered about Khivar and his plan, how far he planned to colonize the universe, and how to stop him – then leapt before her captors could slip on the noose. Even in death, Isabel was proud.

Now completely and utterly alone, he sped off to the forest. Most of it had been burned but the landmarks were still there. She felt her own breath quicken as he dug furiously in the strange dirt. Four silver discs – each with a different crystal embedded. He continued to tunnel down until he hit the hollow they’d built. He jumped down and entered the craft – firing it up and tearing out of his galaxy towards the one who could save them all.

He began to tremble in her arms, almost as if he were reliving the events as she was watching them. She kissed his head, wiping her tears away with his hair. Sighing, she listened to the way his heart beat in tandem with hers. She knew that it would not carry on much longer and that he so desperately wanted her to finish what he could not do.

So much he expected of her… so much he just assumed she would be capable of. How could he have so much faith to cross the universe and find her, entrusting the fate of the world to her. She never wanted any of this – at sixteen, yanked into something so much larger than her capacities could handle. One day, her friend was shot and her life took flight down a very long and treacherous road. She never asked for it.

But she understood him now. Truly understood him. He never asked for this either, never asked to be dealt his hand: forced to live in squalor as a child and assumed to be the savior as an adult. She gulped down a sob and hugged him closer. In the stillness, she made him a promise.

She promised that she would do whatever necessary. No matter what turns her life takes, she will do what he will ask.

The next day, she was able to open the door.

*~*~*

Indulging a whim, she drives past her old house. Her mother no longer lives there – sold it five years back – but it is the place of her childhood. For more than half her life, that simple building was her womb, her safety. It was the place where she could run to when the mean girls would tease her about not having money, and where she and her best friend would stay up all night and giggle about boys while devouring quarts of ice cream. It was home.

Her home is something different now – her husband and children. She thinks about her house so far away and wonders if they’ll drive past it with the same nostalgia one day.

One day in the future.

That’s what this is about, really. It’s about having that one day in the future. Where memories are about good things and not about some life that was almost unrecognizable. She wants her children to have that, to sit back and tell *their* children about silly stories and broken hearts. She wants them to have that happiness of holding their own babies in their arms and cooing softly to them.

She wants it so badly that she is willing to give it all up. She already has.

*~*~*

They crawled through the pods and circled the Granolith. He was quiet for a long time so she set herself up on the floor and waited. Placing both hands on the enormous entity, he built up his energy field until the Granolith began to glow a vibrant cobalt blue. It was quite amazing, really, the way the room filled with colour and purple and green bolts shot around them.

Marveling at its intensity, she leaned back against the wall and he soon joined her. He pressed a small disc into her palm and stared at the glowing object.

“They are coming – and there is nothing we can do about it. Max, Isabel, Tess – they’re all gone. I barely managed to escape in a pod, but I’m not too long for here either.”

Her hand brushed against his leg and he took it in his.

“I came back here because it’s our last hope. They are planning on colonizing the earth and no government has any defense for them. But the Granolith… I need you to do this for me. When they come, I need you to get in here and blow everything up.”

These were all things she knew, though she didn’t say a word. There was an urgency about his words – desperate for her to bear witness to his nightmares. Yet another thing he asked and another thing she gave of herself.

“But can I? I don’t have your…” She looked at him sadly.

Pointing at the disc, he continued. “This is all you need. This button will engage it, and this will make it all explode. It will take all alien and alien-hybrids out at once, no matter where they are in this universe. But~”

“It will take me along with it,” she stated flatly.

“I’m sorry,” he gulped. “I wish there was another way.”

She let out a long, pensive sigh and returned her gaze to the Granolith. “Why can’t we do it now?”

He looked at her for a long time and she knew he had asked himself the same question. “We can’t take the chance. Blowing it up in one universe may not affect the others. I only know for certain that it will work when they are here. On *this* planet.” His thumb ran over her palm. “I don’t know when they are coming,” he said softly. “I just know that I won’t be… able to do it… and I need you to.”

Reaffirming the promise she’d made to him the night before, she rested her head on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I will.”

*~*~*

The car is parked in the small crevice between the two walls. She uncurls her fingers from the wheel and pushes open the door. Wincing, she gets out onto one foot and then the other. She grabs her suitcase from the backseat and pauses. This is her last look at the place she was born, and the last place on earth she will see.

The wind is calm and the sun is making its way towards setting. She closes her eyes and spreads her arms, taking it all in for one last time. Each step she takes in her small circle grounds her a little more and somehow – probably psychosomatically – lessens the pain. She finishes spinning, takes a deep break and makes her way towards the cave.

*~*~*

He waited with her at the bus station.

Boarding had begun while she perused the newspaper stand. Grinning, she handed him six magazines and a few snacks for the trip. He made a big show of spending *more* money on her, and she happily reminded him of her worth and importance. And after everything, she was taking the bus home.

It would have been too dangerous for him to drive back and he didn’t tell her that he probably won’t even be alive long enough to take her home. But he bought her ticket and even paid for lunch – neither of which made up for what he’d asked of her and what he was asking of her.

They headed to the gate when final boarding was announced. He stopped her halfway there as the weight of everything closed in on them.

“Are you sure – sure that you want to do this?”

Cocking her head to the side, she smiled at him. “Yes. I want to do this.”

“You don’t – I mean, you *don’t* have to. I’m asking a lot~”

“Michael, I want to do this. I promise you that I will do this. Just don’t – don’t ask me again or I might change my mind.”

He nodded and they kept walking until she grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“How will I know?”

He scrunched his eyebrows quizzically. “Know?”

“That they’re here,” she said nervously.

“Oh.” He thought for a moment. “You just will. You’ll feel it and you won’t be able to fight it. You might not realize what it is right away, but it never leaves. When it gets so unbearable that you can’t stand it – that’s when it will be time.”

The gate was right in front of them and the last passenger was about to make his way up the stairs. The driver asked if she was getting on and took her ticket. Sadly, she followed him out the door and towards the bus without turning around.

Her foot was on the first step when a hand on her shoulder spun her around. A smile was on her face before she could even see him. He grasped her by the waist and embraced her – almost smothering her in his chest.

“Thank you, Maria” he whispered into her hair and released her.

She reached up to touch his face one last time then turned and got on the bus. He stood there as the bus pulled out and took her back to her new life. She pressed her nose against the window and watched as he grew smaller and smaller.

That’s when the pain began.

*~*~*

The door slides open easily and she has no problem getting through the pods. She settles on the opposite side and goes through the contents of her suitcase. Wrapping her husband’s sweater around her for warmth, she takes out a stack of pictures and places them in rows. Her children, her husband, her friends and family. People who have meant the world to her – and people who she is saving the world for.

Pain’s temporary lull has disintegrated and she knows that there is precious little time left. She can hardly move her arms and her legs are now completely immobile. The dial is the last to be removed and she cradles it in her hand carefully.

Arming the Granolith, she closes her eyes and listens to the low hum. More movies drift in and out – each new one popping up in a vicious fight for dominance. Amused, she scolds them and says that each person and story will get their turn…

Winter’s smile, Gabriel’s laugh, Jamie’s voice. They dance around with black and white images of the past seven years. Slowly they allow earlier memories to take precedence and she is absolved of the remaining fear in her soul.

At peace for the first time in seven years, she opens her eyes to see the sparkling blues and greens and purples. Probably more amazing than anything else she’d ever see outside, but it doesn’t hold her attention long. She closes them again and floats into a world where friends and family mix, memories overlap and all she feels is utter contentment.

Her finger moves to the second button and she smiles.

This is her promise. This is her destiny.


End file.
